In The Eye of the Storm
by AlElizabeth
Summary: Teen!Chester. Part 4 of the 'No More Rose-Coloured Glasses' Universe. After a terrible accident leads to a stay in the ICU for the youngest Winchester. John and Dean, terrified for their youngest family member, try to come to grips with the fact that Sam may not make it this time.


Dean looked up sharply as the door to the motel room slammed open and John stomped inside, white paper take-out bag in one fist, brown paper bag with the top of a whiskey bottle poking out of it, in the other.

Glancing quickly at the time glowing in red numerals on the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand, Dean frowned before returning his attention back to his father, now stepping into the room and sitting down at the desk where his journal sat.

"Did you see Sammy while you were out?" Dean asked, biting his tongue from posing the question he really wanted to:

Did you stop for booze before or after getting dinner?

John shook his head, "I thought he was back already."

Dean looked around the small room as though to confirm that his brother had indeed not slipped in unbeknownst to him.

Reaching into the take-out bag, John picked out a burger in a red cardboard box and held it out to Dean.

"A Big Mac?" the twenty-year old said as he reached for the hamburger, "Dad, you're spoiling me."

John grunted a response but said nothing.

Dean glanced towards the door of the motel room nervously.

"Are you sure you didn't see Sammy?" he asked John again.

"No, Dean," the hunter growled, taking a large bite of his own burger before speaking again, "Don't you think that if I did I would have picked him up?"

The young man decided not to answer his father and instead opened the box containing his burger.

"I told him to be back before dark," he muttered.

"You know your brother," John replied, "He does his own thing… whatever he wants."

Dean didn't say anything to that, not wanting to start another argument with his father and instead watched the older man as he ate, trying to gauge just how much he might have drunk before coming back.

John hadn't staggered when he'd stepped into the room; he wasn't slurring his words when he spoke. Dean did notice that his father's eyes were a little more red than usual, his face more haggard but that could hardly be attributed to drink. John often looked worse for wear- it was the stress of being a hunter- even when he was as sober as the day he was born.

The older Winchester, suddenly aware of his son's scrutiny, looked up sharply, "See something green?"

Dean shook his head and turned his gaze onto his burger.

Deciding that he wasn't all that hungry after all, the twenty-year old stood and moved to the window over the desk where his father sat and pushed back the dusty curtains to peer outside.

Something's wrong, Dean thought. Sammy should have been back by now.

"Eat your food before it goes cold," John grumbled and reached out to grab the curtains from his son.

Both hunters turned their attention to the window when the wail of an ambulance speeding past the motel rattled the pane, the red and blue flash of a police cruisers lights following in quick succession. Listening, both men could discern the siren of yet another ambulance coming from the other direction.

"Probably someone forgot how to drive in the snow," John muttered and released his hold on the curtains.

Dean's frown and sense of unease grew.

"I'm going to check it out," he told John, turning away from the window.

"What?" the older man asked, "It's some accident. Not our problem. Nothing we can do."

Dean ignored his father and grabbed his boots, pulling them on before slipping his jacket over his shoulders.

"Give me the car keys," he held a hand out to John.

"It's none of our business," his father complained, "Sit down and eat something."

Without moving, the twenty-year old replied, "Something's wrong. I know it is. Sam should have been back by now."

John, mouth full of burger, didn't react for a moment before he sighed and stood, setting his dinner aside.

"Dad, I just need the keys," Dean told him.

"I'm coming with you," John replied and headed to the door having left both his boots and jacket on when he'd entered the room.

"Let me drive," Dean said but John shook his head, "I'm fine."

The young man gave his father a skeptical look but didn't insist further.

Following John out the door, Dean shivered. He could still hear the cry of the ambulance sirens not far enough away to be comfortable.

Again, the feeling of unease slipped into his belly and he climbed into the passenger's side of the Impala.

John, in the driver's seat, started the engine and Quiet Riot's 'Slick Black Cadillac' came belting out of the speakers.

Not in the mood for music, Dean quickly jabbed the OFF button and the only sound in the car was the rumbling of her engine.

John put the Impala in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

Maybe he was feeling the same sense of dread Dean was.

Leaving the parking lot, the hunter pointed the Impala in the direction of the wailing sirens and drove just over the speed limit.

Dean gripped the sides of the bucket seat, his nails digging into the leather as he waited anxiously to see what had called the paramedics and police.

Traffic moved slowly, progress impeded by scene up ahead. The Impala crawled forward, the vehicles ahead forced to move single-file.

Dean jumped in his seat when a figure suddenly materialized out of the twilight gloom- a policeman wearing a neon-yellow vest with reflectors over his uniform- and motioned to John to stop.

The hunter complied and rolled down the window.

"Can't go any further," the officer told them, shining a large flashlight into the car, "There's been an accident. The road's closed."

"What kind of accident?" Dean asked, leaning towards the driver's side.

"You'll need to turn around," the officer told them, raising his voice to be heard over the sirens of ambulances still making their way towards the site.

"What happ-" Dean began again but the policeman looked up, making his way towards the car behind them and ignoring the young man.

John started to turn the Impala's wheel but instead of pilling a U-Turn, which would have ended up with the Chevy going over the curb- clearly not a concern of the police at the moment given the gravity of the accident just a few yards away- and onto the deserted sidewalk, he began to parallel park into a space directly in front of a store that looked as though it sold model cars, airplanes and ships.

"Dad, what are you doing?" Dean asked.

"You need to see what's going on, right?" John replied.

Dean nodded.

"So I'm parking," his father replied, "We'll walk."

The police officer who had just spoken to them noticed they were not turning around and took a step towards the Impala.

"Sir! You need to leave!" he shouted but John ignored him.

"You can't park!" the officer called again but the hunter remained deaf to his commands.

Parking as close to the curb as he could, John pulled the keys from the engine and opened the door.

"You need to leave," the police officer told the hunter, stepping forward.

John reached out, perhaps to push the man out of his way, when the cop noticed someone trying to snivel past him towards the blockade of police cruisers, ambulances and sawhorses, and turned his attention away from the Winchesters.

Dean climbed out of the passenger's side and onto the sidewalk, moving quickly forward before the cop returned, John right beside him.

Now that they were on foot, the hunters could see that the first responders' vehicles surrounded a portion of the street on the opposite side of where they were walking. The lights on the police vehicles and ambulances flashed in the gathering darkness, painting the scene in red, white and red.

As Dean and John moved closer, they could hear a cacophony of sound- sirens, shouting, crying, screaming- which did nothing to ease their nerves.

Please don't let Sammy be a part of that, Dean begged, his heart beginning to pound in his chest.

Unable to remain at a sedate pace any longer, the twenty-year old sprinted forward, his boots kicking up ice and slush as he ran.

Dean shoved his way into the crowd of people at the edge of the police barricade until he was standing behind a sawhorse, staring in confusion at the scene before him.

The front glass window of a Burger King restaurant had been shattered, the booths sitting in front of the window- now a gaping hole- were crushed, streaked with dirt, slush and a dark liquid far less pleasant.

To one side of the restaurant stood a tow truck with a black 1963 Cadillac Coupe Deville hoisted up on a chain. The sides of the vehicle were dented and scratched, dark liquid dripped sluggishly from its wide grille and onto the snow below, its windshield cracked and splattered with what looked like red paint.

The backs of the assembled ambulances were open and the EMTs were working on broken, bloodstained bodies lying on stretchers. Some of the bodies seeming abandoned, with no medical attendants circling them, their identities shrouded by long white sheets.

Burger King employees, teens around Sam's age mostly, were huddled in a group across from the battered Cadillac, some weeping and hanging onto one another, other staring with the blank faces of shell-shock.

Police officers stood near the sawhorses, keeping those curious and concerned on the other side, their faces grim.

It took only a moment or two for Dean to realize what he was looking at. Someone- the driver of the Caddy- had crashed through the window of the restaurant.

The young man jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see his father standing behind him, John's face wan and waxy-looking.

Neither Winchester spoke, fearing that if they voiced the fear that now gripped them both it would become a reality. Instead, Dean cupped his hands to his mouth and called out his brother's name, telling himself that Sam was in the group of onlookers.

"SAM!" he shouted at the top of his voice and paused, waiting for a response, "SAMMY!"

After a beat he shoved through the crowd, still shouting his brother's name- John doing the same thing but moving in the opposite direction.

"SAMMY!" Dean cried, his heart clenching tighter with every passing second he heard no response, "SAM!"

If he was in the crowd he'd have answered by now, Dean realized and pushed his way back to the front of the group, eyes frantically seeking out the familiar face of his brother among those being tended to by paramedics because he would _not_ even think about those poor people already covered with stark white blankets.

The twenty-year old leaned over the sawhorse as a pair of EMT workers carried a stretcher through the door of the fast-food restaurant and Dean recognized the bloodied, beaten figure.

"No," he whispered, telling himself that it couldn't be true, that his brother was okay, safe, maybe already back at the motel and wondering where they were.

"No," Dean said, louder now, "Sammy."

But it was true. The shattered body laying on the stretcher was his brother's.

"SAM!" Dean shouted, his eyes hot with tears, "SAMMY!"

He shoved at the sawhorse in his way, intent on getting to his brother because he _needed_ to be with his sibling.

"Whoa!" a strong hand planted itself in the center of Dean's chest, stopping him from moving forward, "You need to stay back."

Dean barely looked at the police officer barring his way.

"SAMMY!" he shouted, "SAMMY!"

"You need to step back," the officer told him.

"That's my brother!" Dean cried, "That's my baby brother! SAMMY!"

"You can't go near there," the cop told him, "I'm sorry."

"Please! You don't understand!" Dean begged, "He's my brother!"

The twenty-year old watched in horror as the paramedics loaded his brother into the back of an ambulance and started working on him, one of them moving to block Dean's view of his sibling.

"No, no! Sammy!" Dean called, his heart breaking, "Please!"

The young man was suddenly jerked back and he lashed out at the person who had pulled on him, striking John in the jaw.

The elder Winchester grabbed Dean's fist to prevent him from hitting him again.

"Dean," he said, his voice quiet, "Dean, you need to calm down."

Dean, his chest heaving, shook his head and pulled his hand from his father's grip.

"S-Sammy," he stammered, "He- He-"

John nodded and looked up, past his eldest son to the police officer who had prevented Dean from running onto the scene.

"I'm sorry," the cop said, "They're all going to General. If that helps."

John nodded and started back through the crowd, Dean following behind him, glancing over his shoulder to the ambulance where his brother lay.

"Dean," the elder Winchester called and the younger picked up his pace, finally turning away from the scene.

Both father and son were silent as they returned to the Impala and climbed into their respective seats. Dean saw that John's face had grown old and haggard in the past twenty minutes, his hands trembling as they reached out to take hold of the steering wheel.

 _W_

Dean recalled nothing of the drive to the General Hospital. He couldn't have named a single landmark they passed or how long the drive was.

As his father pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, Dean's heart clenched painfully in his chest and again he felt the heat of tears in his eyes.

The young man didn't move from his seat when his father found a parking spot and killed the Impala's engine.

"Dean," John said quietly. The sight of his badly injured youngest son seemed to have taken the fire out of John Winchester.

"Dean, we need to go into the hospital," John told him, "They'll want to talk to us."

But Dean couldn't move. If he went into the hospital than it would all be real. If he stayed out here, he could continue to believe that it was just a horrible nightmare and he'd wake up soon, with his baby brother safe and unharmed.

"Dean, c'mon, we need to go inside," John repeated, peering in at him from the open driver's side door.

"Did you see him, Dad?" Dean asked his father without looking at him.

"Dean-" John began but his son interrupted him.

"Did you see him? Sammy. He was c-covered in blood… and n-not moving… Did you see him? What if that's the last time I see him again?"

John closed the door and walked around the front of the car to Dean's side. He opened the passenger's side door and crouched down beside his eldest son.

"Dean," he spoke the young's name sternly, "We are going to see Sam again."

That was all he said. John remained crouched beside the Impala for a long few minutes until Dean seemed to rouse himself and climb out of the vehicle.

The two elder Winchesters walked slowly to the hospital, both anxious to hear new of the youngest member of their family and terrified as well.

Before going through the sliding glass doors, John reached out and gripped Dean's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Stepping into the building, the hunters saw that the hospital staff were already well aware of the accident and had divided the waiting room into two sections using green curtains on wheeled frames. The portion of the waiting room visible from the sliding doors appeared to be in use by people suffering from the common maladies and injuries, which warranted a trip to the Emergency room- sprains, strange pains, and illness- while the other side, beyond the curtain, seemed reserved for the families of those who had had the misfortune of choosing to eat at Burger King that evening.

The Winchesters walked past the wheeled curtains and saw that they were not the first ones in attendance.

A middle-aged woman and man, both with greying hair and the beginnings of laugh lines on their faces were huddled together in a corner, holding each other's hands, their eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying.

A youngish man- probably in his thirties- wearing a suit with the tie undone, sat still as a statue near the couple, his face a mask of shock.

"Excuse me," a soft, female voice asked from behind the Winchesters.

Both Dean and John turned to see a plump nurse with a cherubic face and blonde curls. She held a clipboard out to the elder Winchester.

"Can you fill out these forms please?" she asked and John took the clipboard from her.

"When can we see Sammy?" Dean asked the nurse and she frowned before John interrupted, "He's probably not even here yet. They'll let us know when he gets here."

The twenty-year old opened his mouth to speak again but John grabbed him under the elbow and led him to a couple of seats away from the others waiting on news of their loved ones.

John sighed and picked up the pen attached to the clipboard with a length of string and began filling out the information for his youngest son.

Dean slouched in the blue plastic chair as though he couldn't find the strength to sit up straight. His gaze roved over the portion of waiting room he could see with its grey tile floors, powder blue walls and fluorescent light panels in the ceiling. On the walls were various posters advertising medications for depression, erectile dysfunction, high blood pressure, or, listing the warning signs of heart attacks, strokes and other ailments.

The young man barely noticed when his father stood up, finished filling out the forms and returning them to the nurse, coming back to sit with two cups of coffee in hand.

"I think we're going to be in for a long night," John muttered as Dean took the offered coffee and gulped down the scalding, bitter liquid.

 _W_

John was not wrong about that night.

The hours seemed to drag on and on, tinged with concern and worry.

Dean didn't know how many cups of shitty vending machine coffee had drunk. All he knew was that they kept him awake and that was the important thing.

As the hours wore on, the waiting room became crowded with the family member of the victims; every one of them with faces pale and narrowed with shock and sadness, their voices a quiet drone, holding their breath as they waited for news of their son or daughter, sister or brother, husband or wife.

Eventually doctors and nurses called upon the assembled families to give them news of their loved ones. It did not take long for the hallways and the waiting room itself to echo with the relieved sighs and cries of families finding out that a loved one had pulled through… and the wails, screams and angry exclamations of those who did not receive good news.

It was eight in the morning; thirteen hours since John and Dean had left the motel room in search of the youngest family member, when a doctor called on them.

Dean jumped up from his chair so fast he felt dizzy for a moment before gathering his bearings. John reached out to help steady him and together they met the doctor.

"Is Sammy…" Dean began but then stopped for a moment before speaking again, "Is Sammy okay?"

Dean had been going to ask if his brother was alive but couldn't get the words out. He was sure the surgeon would know what he meant.

The doctor, an older man with silvery-grey hair in a Friar's ring around his head and keen blue eyes beneath white eyebrows. The man was wearing the usual mint green hospital scrubs and a deep frown accented by wrinkles on the corners of his mouth.

"Sam made it out of surgery," the doctor told the Winchesters and Dean felt the great sense of dread that he had been harbouring for over a dozen hours evaporate.

"But he is far from 'okay'," the doctor continued.

"How bad is it, Doc?" John asked, his voice once again quiet and subdued.

The surgeon peered at the families still waiting anxiously for news of their loved ones and raised a hand, gesturing the Winchesters down the hallway, "If you'll follow me, I'll tell you once we have some privacy."

John and Dean dutifully followed the doctor as he walked a few feet down the hallway. Turning to the hunters, the doctor began speaking.

"As I said, Sam made it out of the surgery but he is still in a very critical state as a result of his injuries. He is in the ICU right now and the way we're looking at things, if he makes it through the next twenty-four hours then that's a step in the right direction."

Dean's mouth dropped open in shock and he felt all the blood drain from his face. He couldn't believe it. This couldn't be happening. Sammy had to be okay. He had to be. He was out of surgery. But this doctor was telling them that Sam might not even survive the next day?

"What happened?" John spoke up, the only one of the two to find his voice, "What happened to Sam in that restaurant?"

The surgeon sighed, "The paramedics who brought your son in told me he had severe blunt force trauma injuries as a result of being trapped between the counter where orders are taken and a group of customers who had come into the store after him. The team told me that the car plowed right into the people standing in line to get food and your son was pinned between the counter and their bodies."

"What kinds of injuries are we talking about?" John asked in a whisper. It seemed now that the gravity of the situation was finally catching up with him and he couldn't force himself to speak in a louder volume.

Dean didn't want to hear what had happened to his brother, didn't want to know how badly Sammy had been hurt, but he knew he had to. Swallowing thickly, he turned his hazel eyes onto the doctor's blue ones as the surgeon once again began to speak.

"Sam has no head trauma," he told them, "That we can be thankful for."

John nodded stiffly and the man continued.

"Your son had a collapsed lung, several fractured ribs, bruised kidneys, bruised spinal cord, a ruptured spleen and intestines, a broken pelvic bone, and broken leg."

Although the list of injuries was not extensive, many of the traumas named could result in serious immediate and long-term affects and, possibly, death.

"Right now Sam is being given extra oxygen to help him breathe easier," the doctor began telling the hunters the measures taken to ensure the teen pulled through, "and his kidney function is being monitored closely. He will have to be immobile until we know the extent of his spinal injuries. His ribs have been wrapped and although they will take some time to heal, pose no danger to your son. The ruptured spleen and intestines have been sutured but there is a chance of poisoning as a result of leakage. Sam underwent surgery to repair the breaks to his pelvis and his leg."

"I'll tell you now," the doctor told them, "Your son is looking at many months of rehabilitation and therapy as a result of the fractures alone. He is not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. But, if he's able to make it to tonight, he may have a shot."

John nodded, "Thank you, Doctor."

Dean ducked his head, speechless.

"Can we see him now?" the elder Winchester asked and the doctor informed them that they could.

Solemn, the hunters followed the trauma surgeon down the hallway towards the Intensive Care Unit.

Both Dean and John were silent as they walked down the corridor terrified and anxious to see the youngest member of their family.

"Doctor," a nurse greeted the surgeon as she passed through the doorway of the ICU and into the more public part of the hospital.

The surgeon nodded and held the door open for the Winchesters to step into the ICU.

Like many Intensive Care Units, it had a small waiting area or lobby for family members, with two chairs and a couch covered in cheap grey upholstery, the floor with equally inexpensive navy carpet and generic floral prints on the walls. Magazines months out of issue lay scattered across a wooden coffee table and the two end tables beside the chairs. Across the room was the door that led into the area where the severely ill or injured patients lay.

The doctor crossed the room quickly and opened this inner door.

Dean entered the room first and saw that his sibling was not the only patient inside. All of the beds were occupied, most likely with other victims of the accident that had landed his brother in the ICU in the first place.

The room was eerily quiet but for the sound of beeps, whooshes and drip drip drips of medical equipment.

The doctor strode across the floor, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum tiles, before he paused at the end of one of the beds on the far left-hand side, checked the clipboard attached to the footboard and nodded to the Winchesters.

Dean approached his brother slowly. His brother's face peeked out from beneath the light blue hospital sheets, looking as though he was sleeping but for the sweat beaded on skin as pale as milk.

"Sammy," the elder brother muttered as he took in more of his brother's appearance. A nasal cannula ran from his sibling's nostrils to an oxygen tank beside the bed, an IV line in Sam's wrist led to the stand on his right side. A heart-monitoring machine beeped sonorously and steadily.

Sam's left leg was immobilized in a circular contraption of metal and plastic, pins and rods sticking into the skin of his leg to help hold the broken bones in place as they healed.

"Your brother also has pins in his pelvis to help keep the broken bones from shifting as they heal," the doctor told Dean, "He will be in traction for six to eight weeks until his leg and pelvis have healed enough for him to get up and move around."

"Six to eight weeks?" John exclaimed, his voice rising for the first time in the hours since he'd heard about his son's accident.

Dean glanced at his father from the corner of his eye but John's haggard expression did not change, in fact, if the twenty-year old didn't know any better, he'd say that the man was about to start crying.

"Sam," John mumbled and stepped up to the bed, on the opposite side of Dean.

"If you need anything, just press the call button and a nurse will be here right away," the doctor told the Winchesters, pointing to the bright red circular button beside the head of the hospital bed.

Dean sat down on the edge of the mattress and reached out to hold his brother's left hand poking out from beneath the sheets.

"Sammy," he murmured, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

John, still standing, reached out and brushed his youngest son's shaggy bangs away from his brow.

Dean looked up at his father; John's gaze was focused on Sam's face.

"Sam," the hunter whispered, "Sammy…"

Dean watched and waited and said nothing.

For a long moment John did not speak again and when he did next, there were tears in his throat.

"It's my fault," he spoke in a tone so low Dean almost couldn't hear him, "It's all my fault."

"I was an idiot," John continued, "Childish… petty… I… I wasn't thinking… I was just so mad…"

Dean's eyes widened in surprise at his father's words.

"I was so stupid… so stupid…" John mumbled, "Treating you like that… And look what's happened?"

"All because I couldn't act like an adult."

Dean bit his lip.

"If I'd just taken you to get your glasses fixed," his father continued, "None of this would have happened."

The older hunter looked up at his eldest son and Dean was shocked to see water running down his father's face. The twenty-year old hadn't seen the man cry since his wife had died.

Although Dean felt a pang of righteousness at the fact that his father was finally ( _finally_ ) admitting he had been acting like a complete ass since Sammy's glasses had gotten broken, he knew better than to point out that he'd been telling John the exact same thing for the past few months.

"He'll be okay, Dad," Dean spoke up, "Sammy's a fighter."

John nodded and surreptitiously wiped at his eyes.

"He is," the elder Winchester agreed quietly.

Dean smiled down at his brother and smiled even though he felt crying as well.

Yeah, Dean thought, Sammy better be a fighter because he's gonna be in the fight for his life.

 **Author's Note:**

 **I thought that this would be the end of this series but I think I will continue it. We have to see Sammy through his recovery, don't we?**

 **Please take a moment to review and I'll try and write another installment of this 'verse as soon as possible.**


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